Sixth Part of MFD

EXT. ST. CLEMEN’S COLLEGE - DAY
Ben spies Aurelia seated with Fatiha on a shaded bench.

He heads for them, like a shark -- notices --

A burly man in sunglasses close by -- BODYGUARD #1.

Ben shifts to bumbling mode.

BEN
(French accent)
Aurelia! You take le déjeuner?

The girls look around, startled.

AURELIA
Uh, yeah. We’re almost done. Uh, Laurent, this my friend, Fatiha.

FATIHA
BonJOUR, monSIEUR ...

Ben walks past the girls. Bodyguard #1’s eyes stay on him.

BEN
Bonjour, mademoiselle; I am called Lorie. I do not mean for to intrude on you. I go to class in just one moment. We can meet later?

AURELIA
I ... uh, have a lab. Starts at three and goes for ...

FATIHA
I’d love to!

Aurelia eyes her. Fatiha smiles back.

AURELIA
But my ... lab can wait. Where shall we meet?

BEN
The shop where I spill your coffee? I am done with all classes by four.

FATIHA
Four-thirty’d be perfect.

BEN
Then it is done. Until then!

Ben jaunts away. Fatiha leans over to Aurelia.

FATIHA
You don’t have to come, you know.

Aurelia glares at her. Bodyguard #1 makes a note -- Laurent.

EXT. MARINA - DAY
Glyde parks near the boat locks. He sees Legion atop one, looking at The Thames. He strides over. Jets take off from London City Airport.

GLYDE
What do I call you?

LEGION
Here, my name is Legion.

GLYDE
How’d you get my number?

LEGION
Does it matter? I only thought you have an interest in Forrier’s son’s reappearance.

GLYDE
Why should I?

LEGION
It’s you he’s come looking for. He thinks you had his family killed.

Glyde eyes Legion.

GLYDE
The IRA was behind that.

LEGION
As the story goes. Have you ever met our Benjamin?

GLYDE
Just pictures in the paper.

LEGION
Here. These’re better.

He hands Glyde photo printouts of Ben’s Army photos.

LEGION (CONT’D)
Favors his Da, he does. You have T-Rex encryption on your computer?

Glyde nods.

LEGION (CONT’D)
I’ll e-mail you this code, when you no longer need to be careful.

He offers a card to Glyde, who refuses it.

GLYDE
Don’t contact me, again.

He keeps one photo of Ben. Walks away. Legion smiles at Ben's other photos.

IN GLYDE’S CAR

He gets behind the wheel and hits the hands-free phone.

LEO (O.S.)
Yeah?

GLYDE
Have the Chang brothers upgrade our online security. And I want two men with each of my kids at all times. Let me know who they talk to, who they phone. Everything. And no one gets in a car without it bein’ checked for a bomb. Then get some lads together. We’re off fishing.

LEO
What is it?

GLYDE
More bloody shite from Belfast.
---------------------
This is the first act, completed. Maybe that's enough for now.

Fifth part of MFD...

EXT. ST. CLEMEN’S COLLEGE - DAY
Busy, yet calm. Aurelia exits a building with FATIHA, who’s cut from the same cloth as her.

FATIHA
It’s not right! Who can read, let alone understand, a French novel in under six years!? Why not offer classes on the joy of J K Rowling?

Aurelia slows down.

FATIHA (CONT’D)
What?

AURELIA
The man on that bench. He’s who spilled coffee on me, the other night.

Ben sits nearby, reading.

FATIHA
So there are blond Frenchmen. Or perhaps we should find out if he really is.

AURELIA
Tiha! You’re awful!

She continues on. Fatiha keeps pace. Aurelia casts a quick glance back. Tiha notices.

Ben keeps his face pointed towards his book, but his eyes watch her. His expression fades into a frown.

INT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
YOUNG BEN gazes out a window. Isobel caresses his hair.

ISOBEL
Jamin, quel est le problème?

BEN
C’est rien, maman. Rien.

ISOBEL
Come. I’ll warm some milk and you will tell me what this nothing is.

EXT. ST. CLEMEN’S COLLEGE - DAY
Ben whispers.

BEN
... It’s not exactly nothing.

INT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
Young Ben sits at the kitchen table. Isobel warms some milk.

ISOBEL
Just because I am Catholic does not mean you must find a girl who is. Your father is not, nor were you raised as such.

BEN
But what if ... I was to find one?

She sits by him.

ISOBEL
Oh, Jamin, what is her name?

INT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
Ben is in his army dress uniform; Irina wears a white gown and veil. She slips a ring onto his finger.

BEN (O.S.)
Irina.

IRINA
This is from my love ...

FLASH OF VAUGHN TAKING THE PHOTOGRAPH.

EXT. ST. CLEMEN’S COLLEGE - DAY
Ben forces himself to rise and walk away.

INT. FIRING RANGE - DAY
Ben unloads his pistol into a target.

EXT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - DAY (FLASHBACK)
Forrier shows YOUNG BEN how to shoot a pistol.

FORRIER
Learn the feel of your weapon, so you can aim it without thinking.

FLASH OF BEN SHOOTING THE TALIBAN SNIPER.

INT. FIRING RANGE - DAY
Ben finishes a third clip. Claims his target. Bulls-eyes.

A genial SKA DUDE WHISTLES at it.

SKA DUDE
You did that with a Glock Thirty-six?! Think of what you could do with a real weapon.

He holds up a forty-five Colt revolver.

BEN
Too obvious.

SKA DUDE
That’s got small bullets. Midgies give bigger bites.

Ben takes the forty-five. Looks it over.

BEN
What if you don’t want your target to be wary of you?

SKA DUDE
Better if there’s no trouble to start with. And this? Cheap at two-hundred pound.

Ben returns the Colt to Ska Dude.

BEN
Trouble always comes.

INT. TRAIN DEPOT - DAY

Legion exits a train, bright and cheerful, as always.

BEN (O.S.)
What’s important is to be ready.

INT. GLYDE HOUSE - DAY
In Glyde's office. Glyde talks with an officious man -- LEO.

GLYDE
Just heard from Derry. They doubled their order. That’s the last of our next shipment.

The phone RINGS. Glyde strides to his desk.

LEO
(British)
Someone expecting a party?

GLYDE
An organizer’s planning a festival, like Woodstock or Burning man.

LEO
What’s a burning man?

GLYDE
Bugger if I know.
(into phone)

Yeah?

LEGION (O.S.)
(brogue)
I thought you’d like to hear ... Ben Forrier’s in London.

Quick note -- FYI

I'm making two major changes to Marked For Death.

First off -- the villain was okay but not devastating as I wanted, so I'm shifting that to another character. So that needs to be better set up.

Second -- I didn't reveal a cousin of Ben's has also been killed until near the end. That raised too many problems, not just for the logic of the story but the honesty of the characters. Ben would know the guy's dead. That revelation just did not work, at all, and I'm dumping it. Even though I liked it in the structure.

So...I've gone back to adjust the sections I've already posted, and I'm reworking my ending confrontation, completely. But then, a script is never completely done until it's on the screen.

Something else -- I like the original Mad Max, and I heard there's to be a followup to the so-so #3. But there was a major story in last week's "Entertainment Weekly" that led off with a character snarling at the camera, his face half-covered by a mask made from a trident gardening tool. The middle prong goes over his nose while the outer prongs are in perfect alignment with his eyes. One good smack and he's blind, at the very least. It's such a stupid design, I decided I won't see the movie. If they can't get that right, none of it will be.

Just to prove I'm as shallow as I ever was.

4th bit of MFD

Continuing from last section...
--------------------

INT. GLYDE HOUSE - NIGHT
Designer decorated to excess. Ric opens the front door and stumbles inside, stoned. He YELPS when Aurelia appears.

AURELIA
Davie’s Da let you do this?

RIC
Aura, you trying to kill me?

AURELIA
If you don’t stop, you’ll get kicked out of school.

RIC
Again? Oh, scandal.

AURELIA
Come on. Bed. It’s almost one.

RIC
No. I have a mood for food.

IN THE KITCHEN
Ric hands Aurelia a bottle of water from the fridge then pulls food out. Their voices are soft.

RIC (CONT’D)
Finish your book?

AURELIA
Almost. Da asked where you were.

RIC
You tell him?

AURELIA
Please! Ric, he worries about you.

RIC
You don’t believe that?

AURELIA
Don’t you believe that I worry?

RIC
... Yeah, I ... I do ...

GLYDE (O.S.)
But you don’t give a fuck, do you?

Ric and Aurelia jolt around. Glyde stands by the door. He goes to the boy. Sniffs. Snarls.

RIC
Da, don’t jump to conclusions! I ... some of my mates were ...

Glyde SLAPS HIM. Ric barely flinches.

AURELIA
Da, don’t!

GLYDE
Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me! You know how much money I spent to get you free from that fuckin’ shite!?

RIC
No. How much is it, today?

Glyde SLAPS HIM, again. Aurelia rams between them.

AURELIA
Stop! Da, please ... go back to bed. I’ll talk to him.

GLYDE
For all the fuckin’ good that does.
(to Ric)
I smell it on you, again, you’re back to rehab. Forever! I won’t have my son a fuckin’ junkie!

Glyde storms from the room. Ric sneers after him. Aurelia puts ice in a towel. Wipes at his bloody nose.

RIC
And that’s how he gets thinkin’ I’m doin’ crack ... just imagine if ... if ... sorry, Aura ... sorry ...

He weeps. She holds him close.

EXT. HILLSIDE - NIGHT
Ben hides in shadows. His drone hovers by Glyde’s Manor.

ON THE LAPTOP SCREEN, Aurelia and Ric are visible through a kitchen window. She caresses the boy’s hair.

Ben fixates on the screen.

INT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
YOUNG BEN gazes out a window. Isobel comes up, caresses him.

ISOBEL
Jamin, quel est le problème?

BEN
C’est rien, maman.

EXT. HILLSIDE - NIGHT
Ben finally brings the drone back.

BEN
It’s nothing.

He shuts the laptop down.

INT. MARC’S HOUSE - DAY
In his room, Ben practices Aikido, earbuds on, shirtless. The knife’s scars gleam in his muscles.

Lauren appears in the doorway, perfectly made-up. He pulls off the earbuds; the music is loud.

BEN
Sorry, I’m making too much noise.

LAUREN
No, no. Breakfast is almost ready.

BEN
Have I time to shower, first?

She nods. He bolts for the bathroom. She watches him go. Sees the photo of his family on the mirror. Hesitates. Leaves.

EXT. MARC’S HOUSE - DAY
On the patio overlooking the Thames. Marc and Ben feast. Lauren pours them more juice.

MARC
No, my work is connected to London City Airport. Customs clearance for luxury items. All must be properly declared to avoid VAT or duty. Lauren ... this juice is fresh-squeezed. We should have guests more often.

Ben glances at Lauren.

INT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
At dinner. LAURENT -- a happy teenager -- digs into his food. Marc and Lauren watch. YOUNG BEN and his parents also eat.

ISOBEL
Laurent, do not eat so quickly. You hurt your tummy.

LAURENT
(British)
But it’s so good. Wish you cooked like this, mum.

Lauren rolls her eyes, irritated.

EXT. MARC’S HOUSE - DAY
Lauren shrugs a smile. Ben sips his juice.

BEN
I don’t really understand. What sort of business is it?

MARC
It is like import and export. We handle customs documents and smooth the path for those who want their path smoothed. A man I knew at University started it. We have done well, as you can see. So what have you been doing, the last few days?

BEN
Running about. Army's interested in me returning.

MARC

It did you good.

BEN

I wasn't that wild a lad.

MARC

Ben ...

BEN

All right, then. I ... um, I’ve also been thinking of university.

LAUREN

Which one?

BEN
St. Clemen’s.

LAUREN
... Where Laurent studied ...

BEN
Would you rather I not?

LAUREN
No, that's fine. It's a good school. He liked it there.

Marc focuses on his food. Lauren’s eyes stay on Ben. He hands her a gentle nod.

Third bit of MFD

Maybe I'll post the whole script, this way...see if I can get some feedback. This continues from the day before yesterday's post. (5/3 note: I just realized I made a big boo-boo as regards the book Aurelia's reading, so updated it to one that's more appropriate.)
_____________

EXT. SOCCER PITCH - NIGHT
A FOOTBALL SHOOTS ACROSS THE PITCH! A group of TEENAGERS in full kit race after it in a FOOTBALL MATCH.

AURIC GLYDE -- 16, budding football star, AKA: RIC -- steals the ball. Guides it down the field. Is almost clipped by a huge guard. Kicks in a goal!

Aurelia SCREAMS from the stands.

Ric pumps his arms. His teammates pound on him, happily.

LATER -- AT THE CAR PARK

PEOPLE walk to their cars or drive off. Ric bounds up to grab Aurelia in a howling hug.

RIC
Four in a row, Aura! We’re the top!

AURELIA
Don’t be cocky! You still have a playoff game, and one to make-up.

RIC
Against The Hibernians? Zeroes! C’mon, Davie’s Da's having the team over for celebration. Join us.

AURELIA
I have a paper due on Monday and still have to finish the book.

RIC
Right you are. I’ll snag a ride home with Ghalib.

AURELIA
Ric ... be in by eleven.

He drops his gym bag in the car.

RIC
Thanks for coming. You’re my rock.

He jogs over to some BOYS STANDING NEARBY. Aurelia gets in the Aston Martin. Drives away.

INT. COFFEE SHOP - NIGHT
Aurelia sits at a tiny table, intently reads and takes notes. A CUP OF COFFEE SPLATTERS ON THE FLOOR BESIDE HER! She jolts to find Ben looking down in shock.

BEN
(in French)
Aw, shit, I am sorry, so sorry! The cup, it’s so hot -- I try to get it to table -- oh, I ruin your pants! Your nice boots!

He grabs napkins to dab coffee off her boots and pants.

AURELIA
No, no, that’s all right! Really! No, please. Please, stop.

BEN
(French accent)
Water. If I have water ...

AURELIA
No, it’s all right. I mean it!

BEN
Non, it is not! You will take them to be cleaned, and I will pay.

AURELIA
Will you stop worrying about it? They’re just bloody shoes.

She turns back to her book. He sags into a chair.

BEN
Aw. C’est parfait. Once again, Lorie, you ruin yourself.

AURELIA
Sorry?

BEN
The coffee, it was for you.

AURELIA
For me? Why?

BEN
I see you read La Peste and your cup is cold, so I ask what you drink and bring to you another. And give it to you on your boots.

AURELIA
Why would you buy a coffee for me?

BEN
Is it not all right to buy a pretty girl a coffee, en Angleterre?

AURELIA
It’s best if you ask, first. She might not want any.

BEN
Ah. Next time, I will ask you.

AURELIA
There won’t be a next time. I don’t know you.

Ben offers his hand.

BEN
I am Laurent ... non, non, I am Lorie, to my friends.

AURELIA
I’m not one of your friends.

BEN
But I have now made to you the introduction. I wait only for you to tell me how you are called. My bet is, your name is as pretty as you are.

AURELIA
Listen, Laurent ...

BEN
Lorie! Lorie.

AURELIA
I’m trying to study, here.

BEN
You read Camus in the coffee shop. En français, so this is obvious. To which university do you go? UEL?

AURELIA
Bloody hell.

She closes the book, grabs her things and stands. He sighs.

BEN
I am being too strong, huh?

AURELIA
You have to ask?

BEN
Non. This is my life. I see a girl I like, try to make an impression, and kill myself before she knows me.

He points his finger to his head and pulls the trigger.

AURELIA
It’s not that. It’s just I have a lot to do and ... well ... vous-êtes français, oui?

BEN
De Toulouse. M'accent est mauvais.

AURELIA
Non, non, c'est bon, mais ... étudiez-vous à l'universite?

BEN
Oui ... yes. I study English for to make it better, so I prefer to speak the English, please.

AURELIA
Which university?

BEN
Saint Clemens.

AURELIA
Really? I haven’t seen you there.

BEN
I have only just begun my studies. Is this your university, also?

AURELIA
Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you on campus.

She heads off. He rises.

BEN
How do I call you?

AURELIA
You can’t. I don’t give my phone number to strangers.

BEN
No, your name. How will I call you when I see you, next?

AURELIA
Aurelia. Aura, to my friends.

BEN
We are to be friends?

She waves and walks away. He slowly sits.

EXT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - DAY (FLASHBACK)
Forrier and YOUNG BEN stroll to the house, shotguns in hand, clutches of pheasants over their shoulders.

FORRIER
Ah, but women love to feel superior to men. That is why so many wind up with bastards or fools.

BEN
Which are you with Maman, Da?

FORRIER
A joker, you little bugger.

INT. COFFEE SHOP - NIGHT
Ben watches Aurelia exit. Absently shreds his napkin.

Long day...but good...

I finished the new draft of Marked For Death. All changes made. Just need to go through it and make sure it's consistent. Ben's become quite interesting in what he's willing to do not only for revenge but to make things right and keep his word. He even commits murder. Not of an innocent, nor in self-defense, but deliberately. Bad boy.

The ending was a major chore, because I flat out wanted to do a Hitchcock. Set the finale out in the open, with no place to hide. A gunfight in the middle of it all. With two innocent people caught in the crossfire and one of the villains out of reach, not to mention drone bombs. Woo-hoo! I got almost all of it. Just had to add in a place to use as shelter. It'll be interesting...I think. I hope.

I can already think of changes I'd like to make. Detail stuff, is all. The structure's there. Some of the actions I pull are a bit obvious, but needed to bridge the gap.

It's a wonder to me I was able to focus. This last couple of weeks have been hellish in too many ways. but I'm still standing. Barely. And as stubborn as always. I need a breather from being hit with sudden expenses left and right -- $100 for this and $50 for that and $90 now and $60 immediately. The one that finally got to me was La Quinta charging me for not showing up for a reservation that I'd canceled, and me not seeing it till late last night, as I was about to pay my American Express bill. Meaning I can't handle it till Wednesday, because that was all done on my computer at work and I'll be in Philadelphia on Monday and Tuesday...and I have to call the hotel manager to discuss it.

I need to go to London for a hand-carry or a job or something. ASAP. But with the Olympia Book Fair coming up in a month, I doubt that's going to happen. My bosses handle that fair because one's from England and they can stay with his family to cut expenses. And he knows London like the back of his hand.

Plus there are a couple of smaller fairs at the same time that some of our dealers want to participate in, so they can split up to deal with those. And they're more adept at handling the agents we work with, there, especially as regards submitting export licenses for certain books. Which I already know we'll need at least six of. Oh, well...maybe in June. Then I can toodle down The Thames to see if what I put into the script really works.

Wouldn't it be a shock to see that it had?

More of MFD...

Continues from previous bit...and updated to reflect changes...
------
EXT. MARINA - DAY

By London City Airport. High-end yachts. A lock gate opens and a massive cabin cruiser powers into the harbor to stop by a quay. An open lot is beside it. MARC PLOMIER -- middle-aged but youth-obsessed -- hops out to tie up the mooring.

BEN (O.S.)
Uncle Marc.

He spins to find --

Ben approaching. His hair is blond.

MARC
Ben!?

INT. CRUISER CABIN - DAY

Pristine. Well-furnished. Marc pours tea for Ben.

MARC
(French accent)
What a surprise to see you. Where have you been? How did you know I am here?

BEN
Laurent wrote me; mentioned your new boat.

Marc tenses. Glares at Ben.

MARC
What are you talking about? Laurent is dead.

BEN
He sent a letter to my old unit’s quartermaster. Year ago, maybe. He held it for me.

MARC
... And only now do you reappear?

BEN
... I only just heard. I'm sorry.

MARC
These past two years have been like a nightmare. My sister, your father, killed. Your wife. You, almost. And then my son. One wonders who is next. Where did you go?

BEN
Off to meself. I had lots to think about. But I heard about Laurent, I knew it was time to come back. Get things going, again. I hoped you could help.

MARC
Nothing will please me more.

BEN
Thanks. I’m staying at a B and B in Dartford and -- .

MARC
No, no, no, you will stay with us.

He pulls out a mobile phone. Ben fights a smile.

BEN
Uncle Marc, I don’t want to impose.

INT. MARC’S HOUSE - DAY
Exquisite. Overlooking The Thames. LAUREN -- 40, looks 30, thinks she’s 20 -- holds her mobile phone.

MARC (O.S.)
Ben, please. You are my sister’s son. It would insult me if you do not have use of my home.

INT. MARC'S HOUSE - DAY
Lauren leads Ben down a hall. He has a duffel bag. She motions to a door.

LAUREN
(British)
I’d put you in Laurent's room, but ... well ...

BEN
I'm happy not to be.

LAUREN
Here you go.

She shows him a nicely furnished room overlooking the Thames.

LAUREN (CONT’D)
Why not freshen up while I make lunch? Would you like some wine?

BEN
No, thank you, Aunt Lauren.

LAUREN
Ben ... please, it’s just Lauren.

BEN
... Lauren.

LAUREN
I’m glad to see you’re all right. When you vanished ... well ...

He tightens.

LAUREN (CONT’D)
I ... I’ll get lunch started.

She exits.

He drops his duffel-bag on the bed. Pulls out clothes, a laptop computer, notebook, wad of cash, a GLOCK PISTOL with ammunition and 2 extra clips, and a belt holster.

He takes a worn black & white photo from the notebook -- of him, Irina, Isobel and Forrier in front of the Country Home.

EXT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - DAY (FLASHBACK)
Forrier and Isobel stand stiff behind Irina, in white, and Ben in Full Army Dress. Vaughn, also in Army Dress, sets up a camera on a tripod.

VAUGHN
Oh, no, Irina’s part of the family, now! That’s reason to celebrate!

ISOBEL
Here is my celebration face.

Forrier begins to chuckle. Irina loses it, too. Isobel swats at her husband, smiling.

ISOBEL (CONT’D)
(in French)
Can’t you be serious for one second?!

Ben laughs. Vaughn snaps the photograph.

INT. MARC'S HOUSE - DAY
In his room, Ben slips the photo into a corner of the dresser mirror. He pulls a slip of paper from the notebook; it reads: Nicholas Glyde, The Windwood, Sifford Heath, London RM22 1XP.

INT. SHAGGY APARTMENT - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
Very low-rent. Packed with high-tech computer equipment. A NERDY DUDE passes a folder to Ben.

NERDY DUDE
Yeah. Hard to find, this one. Took me near an hour.

INT. MARC’S HOUSE - DAY
Ben shoves the paper in his pocket, clips the holster to his back belt, slips his pistol into it. His jacket hides it.

EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - DAY
Ben drives past rolling hills.

EXT. GLYDE MANOR - DAY
Elegant. Overlooking green fields and surrounded by trees. Barbed wire atop the brick fence. The entry gate is guarded. Ben passes.

EXT. HILLSIDE - DAY
Ben parks. Gets a case out of the boot. Takes a tiny drone and remote control from it. Starts the laptop. Links the drone camera to the laptop. Gets it flying. It whispers away.

THE DRONE FOCUSES ON THE MANOR. A classic ASTON MARTIN CONVERTIBLE in perfect condition sits near the front door. Bodyguards stroll about. Security cameras are everywhere.

The DRONE’S CAMERA ZEROES IN ON A WINDOW OF THE HOUSE to find NICHOLAS GLYDE -- 45, big and never not in control -- talking on a mobile phone as he paces in his office.

Ben smiles. HIS CAMERA SHIFTS TO THE FRONT DOOR to catch --

AURELIA GLYDE -- 20, the epitome of every young man’s dream -- exiting. Her IMAGE FREEZES.

INT. MARC’S HOUSE - NIGHT
In his room, Ben sits before the laptop. Its screen shows the same image of Aurelia. He rewinds the image to Glyde in the window. Returns to Aurelia.

INT. SHAGGY APARTMENT - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
Ben flips through Nerdy Dude’s folder.

NERDY DUDE
Bastard’s got two kids. Aurelia and Auric. Idiot names from an idiot.

BEN
Both names refer to gold.

NERDY DUDE
Well, they’ve lived golden lives.

INT. MARC’S HOUSE - NIGHT
Ben watches Aurelia move in SLOW-MOTION. His expression is cruel.

The opening for "Marked For Death"...

Back to work --

FADE IN:

EXT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - DAY

Large, well-kept. A black SUV waits in the driveway, a silver SUV ahead of it. ARCHER, a wary silver wolf in a suit, waits with heavily-armed PSNI (Police Service of Northern Ireland) OFFICERS.
A jaunty young CONSTABLE (in street clothes) exits the house, followed by GEORGE FORRIER, 50, urbane to the max.

FORRIER
(brogue)
Isobel, come along! We’re late.

ISOBEL, 50, the perfect mate to Forrier, strides out.

ISOBEL
(French accent)
It is Jamin who is late, by one day, and is the train ever on time?

A lovely young woman follows her -- IRINA FORRIER. She toys with a wedding ring on her finger.

IRINA
(brogue)
It will be, this time. And Ben’ll be waiting. Impatient.

FORRIER
Still loves his bride, eh? Wait till he’s married as long as me.

ISOBEL
George!

He kisses her, gets in the front passenger seat; the women are in the back. Archer and his cops get in their vehicle.

CONSTABLE
(to cops, brogue)
Want us to lead, lads?

The cops and Archer flip him off. Get in the silver SUV.

EXT. IRISH HILLSIDE - DAY

A powerful SCARRED MAN lies under a bush, with binoculars. Watches the SUVs leave the Country Home. He checks printouts of photographs -- sends a text on his mobile.

HIDDEN IN A GLEN

The text shows on a mobile phone -- black.

LEGION, a happy Irish sociopath, puts the phone away, turns on a small drone. Sends it flying.

EXT. IRISH COUNTRY HOME - DAY

The SUVs whip through an electronic gate onto a winding road. Another Constable waves them past.

IN FORRIER’S SUV

He motions back to the gate cop.

FORRIER
That’s what you get for puttin’ your nose in other people’s business.

CONSTABLE
You were right to do it, Mr. Forrier. Mr. Archer agrees.

FORRIER
I’m glad he thinks so. What about you, Irina? You think I’m a fool?

IRINA
I think you think too much, just like your son.

FORRIER
You don’t mind living in a cage?

IRINA
Won’t be forever.

FORRIER
One can hope.

ON THE ROAD

They speed on.

The drone whips behind Forrier’s SUV. Gets closer and closer.

The Constable notices.

CONSTABLE
Bloody hell ... ?

He hits the horn -- BEEP -- BEEP --

IN THE LEAD SUV

Archer looks around and BOOM!

EXT. RURAL TRAIN DEPOT - DAY

Empty. The sound of the explosion echoes. A strong, good-looking young man turns -- BENJAMIN FORRIER -- BEN, as clear-eyed and impish as his father. Army duffel bag beside him. He’d carved IRINA into a post. Smoke
rises in the distance.

EXT. AFGHAN HILLSIDE - DAY
Ben drops to behind some rocks, sniper rifle in hand. He wears desert combat fatigues. He sets up, scans a desert trail through the scope. A BRITISH PATROL heads down it. All very routine.
Ben catches sight of movement in the rocks above the patrol. He punches a mike on his shoulder.

BEN
(brogue)
Sarge, it’s Forrier. Think I saw something.

The patrol scatters for shelter behind rocks.

Ben sees A TALIBAN SNIPER sniper appear from the other side of some rocks -- take quick aim.

Ben centers him in his sites. FIRES. All in one move.

The Sniper collapses.

Ben scans for more movement. Sees nothing. Taps his mike.

BEN (CONT’D)
All clear.

VAUGHN (O.S.)
(British)
Where’s the body?

BEN
Two o’clock. About a hundred meters up the hill.

VAUGHN
Good lad. Pint’s on me, tonight.

EXT. BRITISH ARMY BASE, AFGHANISTAN - NIGHT

Deserted. Dark. Vaughn and Ben exit a canteen, drunk. Half-carry each other down the path. They sing.

VAUGHN AND BEN
When I was young I used to be
As fine a lad as you’d ever see, Till the Prince of Wales, he said to me,
Come join the British Army.
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra-loo,
They’re lookin’ for monkeys up in the zoo,
And if I had a face like you,
I’d join the British Army.

Ben stumbles. Vaughn laughs.

BEN
(brogue)
Shite. I gotta piss.

He stumbles into a latrine. Vaughn continues to sing “Join the British Army.”

INT. LATRINE - NIGHT
Ben pees.

SCARRED MAN (O.S.)
Forrier?

Ben looks around.

BEN
Yeah?

SCARRED MAN
Infidel!

THE SCARRED MAN APPEARS FROM THE SHADOWS -- STABS HIM!

Ben cries out -- jolts back -- falls.

VAUGHN (O.S.)
Ben? Ben!?

Ben sees blood on his hands. Sees the Scarred Man wears an Afghan Army Uniform. Ben smiles. Snarls.

BEN
C’mon, arsehole ... finish it.

VAUGHN (O.S.)
Ben!

The Scarred Man darts into a shadow. Vaughn races in.

BEN
Vaughn? No!

He tries to get up.

The Scarred Man slits his knife through Vaughn’s throat!

Ben kicks the man down. Fights him. Guts him with his own knife. Blood flies. Ben pushes his body away. Bleeding. In pain. Crawls around.

BEN (CONT’D)
... Vaughn ... aw, Christ ...

He sees Vaughn’s lifeless body. RUNNING FEET AND VOICES ARE HEARD APPROACHING. Ben passes out.

Dominoes...

One change begets another change begets another...and so on and so forth. Ben winds up in Afghanistan after his family is killed, which sets up actions later in the story much better. I'm still having some trouble with MFD's timeline of events, but they're not as obscure as they were.

I was reminded of a song I loved, back when I was in 8th grade -- Sukiyaki. The true title of it is Ue O Muite Arukou and the lyrics are elegant...if sad. The singer, Kyu Sakamoto, was so cute...and so tragic. He died in a JAL plane crash in 1985, the worst single-plane disaster ever.

Here's the original version...made in 1962 but not released in the US till 1963. The only Japanese song to hit #1 in Billboard's Top 100. I first heard it 3 years later, when we lived in El Paso.

God, that year was hell on earth, and may well be why I still do not like the desert. Because that's all El Paso is. This song was the only thing I remember as being nice...well, that and having a skunk as a pet. Sort of. Posey never was completely domesticated, and she loved to shit in corners of the closet, so I had to go in to clean it out. She finally ran away, one night. I was both sorry and not.

I also used to slip over to Juarez on the trolley with a friend of mine -- Danny? If you gave a guy a US dollar, he'd buy you beers and keep the change. That and real tamales, you were set. And my folks never knew. They thought I was going to the movies.

I did see a couple of good Godzilla films, in El Paso...and a Mothra. At a downtown theater. But for the most part my memories are of dealing with roving packs of bullies at school, teachers who didn't care or made fun of my still-British accent and spelling, and my first B in Art (I'd always had As before then). I was so glad to be leaving, even going to Grand Forks, North Dakota sounded good.

And it was; the base had a little theater group. And I joined. And then promptly got ripped away and sent back to San Antonio.

That's when I began to believe you really have no control over your life.

One change destroys...

I lost my ending to Marked For Death. A lovely shootout in a room full of computer servers. By shifting the story to London, it no longer made sense without me going through all sorts of explanations that would be boring, at best. So now I have to come up with a new ending that achieves the same goal.

This may be better because it'll have to be out in the open, no place to hide from a gunfight, with CCTV cameras all over. I'll need to be way more creative. As of now, I'm not quite there. Hell, I'm not even in the same postal code.

Ben's helping. One scene I'd set in a marina by London's City Airport didn't work till he and I went looking for something better. And found it. Now it makes total sense and helps explain one aspect of the story without a lot of exposition.

This is kind of odd...using a real man named Ben to model one of my characters, who's also named Ben. It's informing on him a bit. My Ben's father's Jewish but his mother's Catholic, so officially speaking he's not Jewish.

Ben Cohen's family name is Jewish but they haven't been for a couple generations. Which doesn't really surprise me; I knew a man named Markowitz in LA who was Catholic. Plus even though BC's a big buff rugby player (one mean-assed sport) he comes across as so tender and sweet and happy, you can't help but like him.

He's clinically deaf, so that may have something to do with his temperament. I've found people with partial disabilities tend to be more caring and understanding of the limitations of others. But also has a lot to do with his upbringing. His father was killed defending someone from an attack in the club he managed, in 2000.

I hope my Ben is worthy of Rugby Ben.

Hallelujah

A very second-rate version of Leonard Cohen's song is playing on KCRW, right now. It's one of the most beautiful ever written and does NOT need to be oversold. In fact, it's hurt if you take it into high emotion. This is Jeff Buckley's rendition...but the loveliest I ever heard was all but whispered, throughout. Broke my heart, it did.

"Hallelujah"

Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music do you
Well it goes like this:
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Well your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrough ya
She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor (you know)
I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

Maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah

Progress proceeds, potentially pleasing...

MFD is enjoying its shift to London's east side. It's settled in the Royal Docks area, where London's City Airport now stands along with some massive business development, and I've worked in some political comment. The lead is now named Ben Forrier and he's a Protestant from Belfast, who married a Catholic woman and is out for revenge over the murder of both her and his parents.

It's funny, but the image I have in my head for Ben is Ben Cohen, once a British rugby star and now a straight ally of gay rights and no-bullying. He's in his 30s, while my Ben is still mid-20s, but I like the look of him for the character. He seems like he can handle himself.

I've got nearly 40 pages done and think I'll have a good draft done, this weekend. But what's best is, it's gotten me past the drought that was drying out my creative drive. I have a couple people in the UK film industry who are open to considering it so long as it won't cost 10 million pounds to make, so the changes I'm making are taking that into account.

I've trimmed back the number of locations, already, and simplified the through line, up to this point. Here's hoping it'll work out all the way through.

Yeah...still hoping...

Rebuilding...

I did some writing, today. A script I wrote that was set in LA is being shifted to London, and it fits pretty well there, so far. It's a bit of a cheat, getting back to work this way...but anything that breaks the logjam of apathy is good, I guess.

Doesn't hurt that the day job is beginning to finally gear down, a little. Most of the dealers are home or en route, and I'm more rested, now. I actually got 7 hours sleep, last night, and may do that tonight. Normally I'm working off 6 and make it up on the weekends.

I've also decided to sit out the whole Presidential campaign, this time. Too many twerps are already saying that if I don't vote for Hillary Clinton, that's the same as voting for a Republican. Which only serves to piss me off. One woman on facebook has even started calling people like me, who question handing HRC the nomination, Non-Democratic. The meaning behind that snotty phrase is too damned obvious, even though she insists all she means is we're not Democrats.

Man, when the Left Wing Know-It-Alls starts using the same bullshit to excuse their insults as the Right Wing Assholes, it's time to let it go. I've got other things to worry about, stuff more immediate than an election that's a year and a half away. I've said my piece; let other people spit and snarl. I'll focus my bile and anger on my writing.

Wonder if that'll help the stories any.

I almost wrote, today...

One of my rules is, I have to write something at least once a day. Preferably on a book or script, but something. Even if it's just in a journal or notes for the story or something. But it's been over a week since I've done anything...and today was the first time I even began to notice it.

Normally, if I don't scribble at least something down, I go into a sort of withdrawal. But I've coasted through this week of artistic inactivity. Maybe it's because I was tired. My whole rhythm was thrown off for several days, getting up at 6:30 or 7am and working nearly non-stop at packing books. I worked 11 hours on Thursday, with only a salad for lunch. Then I drove home on Friday but didn't get in till nearly 8pm thanks to Toronto traffic (they're trying to out-do LA and doing a damn good job of it). Then I got up at 6am Saturday morning to hop down to NYC to look at another massive packing job, did a hell of a lot of walking around both the book fair and to and from the job's site, and I didn't get home till 1:30 the next morning. I'd like to think that's all it is.

But in the past when I've done stretches like that, I'd whine about it and then do a little something on a story. Even then, I needed to. Like a drunk needs a drink or a junkie a fix. Not this time. Instead, I've watched the first 12 episodes of Friends and the first 3 hours of Battlestar Galactica...and that's it.

Oh, I did get nudged a little. Don't even know by whom in which story. I sent off an e-mail to an associate DA in Riverside for some info for The Vanishing of Owen Taylor, but I can't say that was it. Nor was it Carli's Kills or Underground Guy, despite thinking Carli'd be fun to take to the extreme and Dev's drifting close to crazy-as-hell. At least, I can't say for sure. I had another story I was working on, once, called Marked for Death; it sort of waved at me. Only nothing is slamming my head against the wall or brightening my ideas up or giving me the joy of putting words together.

All I know with any certainty is, I don't really feel the withdrawal symptoms of not writing, yet...and that scares me, a little.

Almost have my brain back...

I don't remember a great deal about the last three days except I worked them like crazy. I did a 4-day packing job in just over 2, not including driving to and from the Toronto area. It was one of those jobs where you're told to expect a minimal amount of work and suddenly it nearly quadruples in size...oh, and within the same time frame, OK? I got it done -- 73 boxes of books and 3 boxes of documents, but I'm not happy with the job I did.

In order to finish in time, I cut out two steps in my packing process. Normally, I wrap each book in tissue then stack them, by size, to fit a 16x14x12 inch box, lay bits of bubble between the books for cushioning and wrap them as a bundle, in bubble wrap. Then there's an inch of space on all sides, so the bundle of books is, effectively, floating in the center of the box surrounded by crumbled paper. So far as I know, I've never had a book show up damaged.

This time, however, I wrapped a couple books together in single sheets of tissue, and I didn't put bubble in-between the books unless it was really needed. They're still protected, but not as well as they should be. But here's the funny part -- the cataloguer who was picking the books whined that I was overpacking them. They didn't need to be tissue-wrapped or have so much padding around them. It actually slowed me down, doing it that way, and when he was gone I got back up to speed.

Today, I flew down to NYC to look at a collection that's even larger...and I'm going to be precise in what I will and will not do. But this is for a client who understands and doesn't whine about me overdoing it. I also spent some time at the NY Book Fair and saw some old friends and one British dealer I've got a major crush on.

I'm now at Jet Blue's Terminal 5 and I'm exhausted; cannot wait to get home and sleep all day, Sunday.

Damn the writing...

I'm watching Rear Window, again, because I read this lovely article about it.

I hate logic...

I think it was Hitchcock who once said that logic was for small-minded people, but I can't find that quote. However...he never had to deal with a story that takes you places that look great until you ask yourself one simple question...and then the whole thing falls apart. Well, not the whole thing; just a subplot that I really liked but makes no sense, now that I'm thinking about it. Dammit.

That's why thinking is a dangerous pastime; it ruins the worlds you build in your mind. My best worlds come from turmoil and anger and chaos, because those moments clear away the crap I'm focused on and let me find clarity. Still, I've had moments torn away from me in OT and CK because logic must prevail, and now it's happened again. I followed a character to a point and thought, "This is great." Then a light popped on and I saw it was amazingly stupid.

I hate that in other work. Like Mystic River -- the opening bit where a boy is kidnapped and sexually assaulted by a couple of priests; I didn't believe how it happened. Two men drive up in a car, put the kid in the back seat and drive away with him? In full view of witnesses? And then when he escaped with his tee-shirt still a pristine white, after days of abuse? It was all downhill from there, for me.

I can get weird about some of the dumbest things -- like changing a character's nickname because at a critical juncture in the story, it would sound dumb. Like Meryl Streep's pronunciation of Stingo in Sophie's Choice. Sting-go. It's comical at moments not meant to be funny. Of course, I didn't like that movie, either, but for entirely different reasons.

So today I slammed into a wall and used my ironing to excuse me watching the opening of the reboot of Battlestar Galactica. It was made 12 years ago for SyFy and still holds up so damn well, even against my glowing memory of it. This was a hard-hitting series, and is still relevant in too damn many ways. That the Emmys ignored it was a travesty.

Of course, it didn't hurt that Jamie Bamber did that famous towel scene, a few episodes in...

Mighty Minsky is no Mouse...

I've been watching some of Alex Minsky's snippets and they're fun. Here's his latest.

Alex was hit by an IED in Afghanistan and lost his right leg, below the knee. The tattoos were started to cover the scars from burns and such. I follow him on facebook and use these videos to take me out of myself and back into the understanding that my crap is middling compared to many others'.

His story also pisses me off even more at the GOP, who are so eager to send more men like him into battle (and women) just so they can keep Obama for any sort of success. Evil cowardly people elected by evil cowardly people.

But Alex...he's my hero, and he's become Zeke, to me, in Carli's Kills.

Trigger pulled...

I'm a mess, right now. As all writers are, once in a while. I guess. And it's all due to a phone call from one of my cousins. It's not the subject of the call, so much -- that my aunt was in the hospital for cancer surgery; it's that she was already coming home and everything looked good. In fact, she's probably home now.

Nice to know, right? But it jolted me back to when I lost that side of the family. In September 1987. I'd made plans to visit my sister in San Diego and mentioned them to that same aunt, and she talked me into changing my trip to come up to see her for a few days then go on to California. It sounded important, so I did. This was back when you could change your ticket without hundreds of dollars in penalties.

Well...turned out that trip was an ambush. I was still in the closet, back then, but my cousins had been told I was gay by someone we all knew, and they wanted to know if I had AIDS. I spent an extra $300 in plane fare so they could look in my eyes as I told them I was HIV neg. Some of them didn't believe me, anyway, and the whole atmosphere was so hideous, I came close to walking to the airport so I could leave. Which would've taken a while; it was twenty miles away.

I'd always thought of myself as being part of their family. I found out that I never was, really. And after I left, they stopped contacting me unless someone died. Like when the one cousin who was still cool about me killed herself. I was in Houston, and they let me know the day before her funeral. I was told that it wasn't necessary for me to come. Same message when my uncle died.

I didn't see them, again, until after my mother was buried. I visited my aunt to give her some photos and things. In truth, the only one I wanted to see was her, but she invited the whole family and their now-grown kids. They acted like nothing had ever happened and we ate homemade pizza and I left as soon as I could because I was getting sick from holding in my hurt and anger. I realized that in some things, I have the memory of an elephant, especially as regards being injured.

So once again I'm told about something important after the fact. Don't come. Not really necessary. And then, to cap it off, he said goodbye with the the nice, casual, stand-offish phrase of, "my friend." Not Cuz, like he used to call me. Or Ky. Just something polite. All but telling me he felt he had to let me know my aunt was ill, but now his duty was done.

My aunt is 85 years old. When she's gone, that side of the family will be dead to me. And I will not be sorry.

What a funny tragedy this would make.

Stealing Paul Krugman's Blog Post

This is one of today's posts, and he's getting right at the heart of what today's GOP is all about -- behaving like a bunch of bullies out to cause as much destruction as possible because it's fun.

John Galt Hates Ben Bernanke

Ah: I see that there was a Twitter exchange among Brad DeLong, James Pethokoukis, and others over why Republicans don’t acknowledge that Ben Bernanke helped the economy, and claim credit. Pethokoukis — who presumably gets to talk to quite a few Republicans from his perch at AEI — offers a fairly amazing explanation:

B/c many view BB as enabling Obama’s spending and artificially propping up debt-heavy economy in need of Mellon-esque liquidation
Yep: that dastardly Bernanke was preventing us from having a financial crisis, curse him.

Actually, there’s a lot of evidence that this was an important part of the story. As I pointed out a couple of months ago, Paul Ryan and John Taylor went all-out conspiracy theory on the Bernanke Fed, claiming that its efforts were not about trying to fulfill its mandate, but rather that

This looks an awful lot like an attempt to bail out fiscal policy, and such attempts call the Fed’s independence into question.

Basically, leading Republicans didn’t just expect a disaster, they wanted one — and they were furious at Bernanke for, as they saw it, heading off the crisis they hoped to see. It’s a pretty awesome position to take. But it makes a lot of sense when you consider where these people were coming from.

After all, what is Atlas Shrugged really about? Leave aside the endless speeches and bad sex scenes. What you’re left with is the tale of how a group of plutocrats overthrow a democratically elected government with a campaign of economic sabotage.

Look, I know it sounds harsh to say that Republicans opposed QE in large part out of fear that it would work, and deliver a success to a president they hated. I mean, the next thing you know I’ll be accusing them of crazy things they would never do, like deliberately trying to undermine delicate nuclear negotiations. Oh, wait.

There are no more Christians in America...

A lot of people still claim they are, but their actions are the exact opposite of the teachings of Christ so their claims are lies. Period.

To me, the whole idea of being a Christian is boiled down to its essence in three chapters of Matthew -- 5-7. The Sermon on the Mount. That's where Jesus tells people not to judge, to love others as much as they do themselves. To be tolerant and understanding, and to live their lives right, not to loudly proclaim how good and Godly they are.

But since the dawn of the church, those words have only been used for others to live up to, not the self-professed christianists. They have used the bible to excuse slavery, slaughter, genocide, torture, hate, selfishness, condescension, injustice and intolerance in the extreme. Not to mention silence in the face of all this evil, because it's a tenet of law that silence equals consent. And none of this is acceptable to Christ.

I'm not saying they're the only ones who do this. Muslims have pulled the same crap since Mohammed, and if you read the Old Testament, you can see where Jews have done it, too. All in the name of their god, be he Allah or Jahweh. Hindus and Buddhists and even Sikhs have done it. But it's the christianists in America who are the focus of my hatred, right now, because they're the ones turning our country into a theocracy, just like Iran is, Israel is becoming, and just like what ISIS wants to do. They're the ones bringing hell to my neighborhood.

Maybe they should be called Paulists, because Paul's the one who turned Christianity into something spiteful and vile.